Asymmetrical
by TheRockNRollBeauty
Summary: Russia likes things symmetrical. He likes America very much because of this: but he would like him much more if he didn't have that annoying, off-putting little cowlick. Fluff& slight Nantucket kink! RusAme


**I feel bad for my lack of updates! :( The truth is that I've been writing a lot of drabbles lately and I'm never sure if they're worth publishing here or not...but I liked this one, so I thought I'd give it a try. **

**More Nantucket kink! Because it's wonderful~**

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><p>America was pleasing to look at. At least, Russia thought it so.<p>

His teeth were perfect, white and identical and all shown in a smile that bunched his cheeks up into perfect dimples. His eyes were each the same size and the same lovely shade of sky blue; they both sparkled with childish excitement and that spark of rare insight. The shocks of gold hair on either side of his face were cut to the same length, framing his face in a perfectly balanced picture.

And yet, there was one thing that always bothered Russia whenever he looked at America.

His eyes traveled across from him where the young nation was idly tapping the glossy tabletop with his pen, doodling stars and rocket ships into the wood. It was a very cute sight, Russia thought, until he caught sight of _it_.

_It _being that persistent little lock of hair on America's head that always stood up at attention. The rest of America's hair could be sleek and smoothly combed out but _always_ did that little piece stick up, like some kind of an antennae. Through many of his sessions of discreet "America watching" during meetings or lunch breaks he noticed Alfred running through his hair and pulling down the lock a little bit, only for the irksome thing to pop back into place. It didn't seem to bother America too much, but it annoyed Russia to no end. It made America look off: unbalanced and asymmetrical.

One day, Russia couldn't take it anymore. America had made an especially exuberant presentation that day, and all the Slavic nation could look at was the way that aggravating piece of hair bobbed and twitched with every one of Alfred's over the top movements.

He decided that after the meetings concluded he would make his move.

Once said meetings were over, he kept sight of America out of the corner of his eye, tracking the boy nation's movements.

America was shoving his laptop into his bag, struggling to stuff it into the bulging case full of chips and cookies packed away for the nation's persistent "snack breaks." Russia lingered a little longer as he packed away his own papers into his black attaché case, casually looking up with an intimidating glance to the remaining nations, who were filtering out of the room too slowly for his liking.

Once the room was deserted, save for the two of them, Russia clicked his briefcase shut and left it on the table as he saw America zip up his bag and sling it over his shoulder. Quickly and silently, Russia walked up right past America and turned, intercepting the other nation's path.

America raised an eyebrow and shrugged the laptop strap further onto his shoulder. His cheeks were bulging as he slurped at the last of his half dozen "lunchtime" shakes.

Not waiting to see if he would shove him out of his way, Russia raised his hands and put both of them on the top of America's head, flattening his hair against his head.

Russia had half expected America, flighty and paranoid as he was, to jump away from Russia's touch and perhaps shriek at him and call him a "dirty commie," but instead America seemed rather nonplussed, continuing to slurp at his shake.

"What're you doing?" He questioned around the straw.

Russia lifted his hand a little to see if it worked, but again that little piece of hair popped up like a spring. He frowned and patted the head again trying vain to push it down into the nation's scalp. America continued to watch him and sip at his drink questioningly.

It was only when Russia tried to rub the piece of hair down, his palm brushing across it's entire length, that America ducked out from his hands and pulled away.

"A-alright, enough of that." America put his hands protectively over his crown, and Russia noticed that his perfect cheeks were a little flushed. Once he was a fair distance away form the prodding Russian, Alfred pulled his hands down and began to absentmindedly adjust the strap of his laptop bag.

Russia was a little bit confused by the American's sudden withdrawal, but simply put his hands back in his pockets and watched as America finally stopped fidgeting and looked at him.

"What the hell is up with you, Russia? You're acting all weird today, you creep. Like, you were actually watching me present and all."

Oh dear. Ivan had been so distracted by the annoying piece of hair that he had not concealed his Alfred watching as well as he usually did.

"Am I not supposed to watch and listen to what you are talking about? After all, what you will do affects us all, now."

Alfred huffed and shifted his laptop bag.

"Yeah, I _know_ that. It's just that most of the time when I'm presenting, I notice that you're either looking at your notes or looking away or at Lithuania or China or something."

So America paid attention to him while he was at the podium? Interesting.

"Well, rest assured, _Amerika_, I am paying enough attention."

America's hands had moved back to his hair, and now he was pulling and twisting awkwardly at a blonde strand.

A strained silence pulled out between them. Russia was thinking of ending the conversation by moving to get his briefcase when America beat him to it.

"W-well, I'll see you tomorrow, 'kay Russia?" He said in a voice that sounded almost like a squeak.

And with that America bustled out of the room in a blur, laptop bag swinging behind him.

Russia scratched his head at the sudden departure, but moved to pick up his briefcase, hefting it in his hand as he went over what had just happened in his head.

America had looked wonderful with that little tinge of pink his cheeks. The very thought of that adorable and balanced face all flushed made him heat up as well.

But America, Russia decided, would look _even better_ if that aggravating piece of hair could be smoothed down.

He debated various solutions in his head as he shut the door to the conference room and set off down the hall.

What to do, what to do?

Perhaps he could convince America to use some form of gel on the thing?

Perhaps he could try to glue it down?

_Or perhaps he could just cut it off?_

His smile lit up and he gently clapped his hands together.

Of course! It was so simple!

The next day, he arrived to the conferences with a spring in his step a little touch of elation in his chest. Even the sight of America and that obnoxious cowlick of his could not bring down his spirits, because by the end of the day he would've found the solution to that problem.

He'd 'borrowed' a pair of scissors from Poland's desk, keeping them safely tucked into the pocket of his coat until he found the opportune moment to strike.

During most of the morning half of the world meeting, Russia noticed the little bags under America's eyes, the way he yawned and dropped his his drooping head on his hands. England, who sat to the Americans left, had to nudge him in the ribs several times to keep him from nodding off.

When Germany called for a break Russia watched out of the corner of his eyes as America stretched in a cat-like yawn and quickly made for the door. Russia watched as Lithuania approached him, the two engaging in a brief conversation before America waved and laughed and exited the room.

Russia quickly made his way to where the Baltic nation still stood, persistent smile on his face.

"_Privyet_, Lithuania," A notable shiver went through the smaller nation at the voice, but he still gave the Russian a shaky smile.

"Y-yes, Mr. Russia?"

"Do you know where little _Amerika_ has gone off to? I would like very much to speak with him."

Russia could see the division as the Baltic nation half opened his mouth, obviously deciding whether to tell the Russian the truth of not, wary of what a "chat" with America might entail.

"Um-well, he said that he was going to lie down in his office…"

"Ah! Thank you very much," He patted the Lithuanian non-too-gently on the shoulder, knocking him a little off balance and into Poland, who was currently ranting about how someone had gone through all his impromptu hair dressing supplies.

Russia quickly exited the room and made his way down the halls, knowing the path to America's office by rote, having spent many a day in the past stalking and spying.

Once there, he creaked open the door to the office, swiveling his head around to check for any other nations that may question his motives.

He puts a hand in his pocket and felt the pair of pink shears in his there. It would be much easier if perhaps America was asleep, or at least a little bit drowsy.

The lights in the office had been turned off, only a little sunlight filtering through the half closed blinds.

Russia could see from the doorway that America was asleep on his desk, hunched over what looked like piles of mussed up paperwork. The bands of brightness were splayed over his curled back and tucked head, broken a little by the rise and fall of the American's breath.

He crept forward _perhaps a little reverently_ until he was hovering next to the sleeping nations, taking a moment to quietly watch him.

Ivan felt a little bloom of tenderness in his chest, dampened only by the sight of that _hair_, glowing brightly like a beacon. Russia scowled. It ruined everything about America! Russia wondered why the nation himself had not thought of cutting it off.

Russia leaned over the sleeping America, careful not to make a single sound. He opened the scissors and reached out two fingers, pinching the end.

America immediately stirred, and Russia colored at the sound of the embarrassingly loud groan that came from the nation's muffled mouth.

Well, that certainly wasn't a noise he had ever heard America make before.

Obviously, the young nation was waking up, so Ivan had to act fast. He pulled the hair taunt and began to close the scissors, managing to snip of a few of the hairs before America jolted completely awake with a loud whine.

"W-What, don't-" Alfred squeaked as he dazedly pulled up from his sleeping position and tugged himself back. Ivan felt his hand slapped away as Alfred clapped a hand about the little lock of hair. Russia dropped the scissors as he lurched a little off balance, putting one hand on Alfred's desk and the other on his chair for support.

America almost fell of his chair before once hand shot out and grabbed onto his chair in reflex, touching up against Russia's. Alfred groaned sleepily and blinked in quick succession, rubbing a hand across his eyes. He glanced up at Ivan blearily.

"W-what the fuck—Russia?"

America finally noticed the compromising position the Russian had him in, and blushed even deeper. He put his hands squarely on the bigger nation's chest and tried to push him away. But Russia was built like a concrete wall, _fuck him_ and didn't budge at all.

So instead he brought both of his hands up to his head, shielding the secretly sensitive hair from any more invasive touches. Russia watched America's attempts to protect his head with confused yet bare amusement.

"W-what were you doing with Nantucket, dude?" America stammered, all too aware of the betraying glow and warmth of his cheeks.

Nantucket? Russia raised an eyebrow. Alfred had actually _named_ that little grievance?

Well, there was no point in lying. But perhaps if he told the truth, then Alfred would be willing to let him snip off the little piece of hair once and for all.

So he shrugged his shoulders and smiled down at Alfred.

"I was trying to cut it off."

America's puzzled look quickly turned to one of horror as his jaw dropped.

"W-what?"

Russia bent down and plucked the scissors from where that had fallen and presented them to America in a childlike manner as he opened and closed them, enjoying the sound of that metallic _swish_.

"If you may hold still, I can still finish it—"

"No!" Alfred batted the scissors away, as he shrunk back into his chair, the mere _thought_ of that happening terrifying him.

"You can't just cut it off, dude!"

Russia frowned, setting the scissors aside.

"And why not, my little _Amerika?"_

"B-because it's, well-it's like-," America gestured frantically about him, trying to make Russia understand what he didn't want to put into words.

But Russia did not understand. Alfred frowned and ran a hand through his hair, careful to avoid the newly christened "Nantucket."

"It's-it's-" Alfred gestured around his face in a large circle, "It makes me do this-I mean-"

Russia stared blankly at America's face for a moment longer, watching as he averted his eyes, his blushed face deepening.

"Ah," Russia took in a breath as he understood what exactly America was implying. That that little strand of hair was in control of America's-_of course_ Russia, had heard rumors of such hairs amongst the gossip of some of the other nations.

It made sense, now, why Alfred would not want the hair removed.

"Ah," Russia repeated, this time letting a coy little smile pass his face, "And here I am thinking that _Alfredka's_ 'manhood' was Florida, _da_?"

Russia was pleased that Alfred flushed deeper at his little joke. So the touch of hair was certainly _not _the only thing making the American feel in this way.

"S-so," Alfred managed to find his voice again as he straightened himself up on the chair, "So that's why you can't cut it off and all. And I like to think of it as New England too, so-yeah. It's apart of me too, like that."

"Alright, then," Russia leaned a little over Alfred, putting one hand on the desk, "I will not try to cut off the little hair anymore."

Armed with the newfound information, he did not find tiny Nantucket as annoying any longer.

"But that doesn't mean I will not try other means of putting that little hair in it's place, _da_?"

Alfred looked at him nervously, but didn't attempt to push Russia off and away. Instead, he watched almost curiously, wanting to see what the Russian would do next,

Unwillingly to disappoint, Russia pulled his his glove with his teeth and licked at one of his thumbs.

"Perhaps let me try a different means of putting down that hair—"

He took America's jaw in one of his hands and jerked his chin up. Alfred's eyes widened a bit behind his glasses as Russia reached forwards and smoothed the pad of his wet, bare thumb against the shiny little lock.

Alfred let out a low groan at the slow and tantalizing touch, Russia emitting a little sigh as America's face blushed and contorted in that perfectly symmetrical way.

He ended the teasing touch with a little flick to the tip of Nantucket. The hair actually stayed in place for a few moments before springing off America's scalp, bobbing tauntingly in front of Russia's face.

"Ah," Russia chuckled, running the thumb of his other hand over Alfred's jaw, looking into his darkening eyes, "So stubborn. I suppose I will just have to keep trying?"

This time, he licked two of his fingers.


End file.
